Dr Feelgood revisited
by francis2
Summary: A little trilogy exploring what poor Dr. Pollock experienced during the episode.
1. Just an Accident

Just an accident

Turning challenge, first person POV and under 1000 words.

This is from the POV of Dr. Jeffrey Pollock. Moonlight doesn't belong to me.

Driving at night is a calming experience for me. I like my night shifts just for the part of getting there. There is fewer traffic around, which is a blessing in itself if you live in LA. I don't turn on the radio, I just enjoy the cool night and the quiet. Today was no exception.

I was a bit concerned because of the pain medication I had been given. I came from an appointment at the dentist to get a molar extracted. Tomorrow, after the bleeding stops, I will get a new one inserted into the bone. And I was advised not to drive, and not to go to work, but I had to take a shift for a friend. Well, it wasn't brain surgery, was it? Just on call at Internal.

Suddenly I startled out of my thoughts, as the car before me, which was a bit too fast, swerved and then ran a person over before I could even blink. Instead of stopping, the car drove on. It was a silver car, but I did get neither number nor model.

Instantly I stopped my car, actuated the warning lights and ran over to the man lying in the middle of first and main.

„Sir, sir can you hear me? Sir? Are you allright?"

He was probably 50 years old, sparse hair, thin. He was lying on his back, unmoving. Probably internal bleeding, surely a concussion. I kneeled down and searched for the pulse.

„Everything's gonna be allright. I'm a doctor.

I'm just gonna feel your neck a little bit, okay?"

He coughs up. His blood gets into my mouth, but I am too busy searching for his pulse and too confused about not finding any when he clearly is alive to care. I am not squeamish with bodily fluids, else I wouldn't be a doctor.

„Stay with me, come on!" I frantically search for his heartbeat, there is none. I am at a loss what to do? CPR only works when the person is clearly unconscious, you know. Which happens normally when you don't have a heartbeat. But this man is lying there and is clearly conscious, just has his eyes closed.

If I thought this was odd when he had his eyes closed, I wasn't prepared for what happened when he opened them.

I have only time to notice his eyes are silverblue and gleaming, when he lunges up at me, takes my head and shoulders into a dead grip that defies a dying man and bites me hard into my neck.

Hell, that hurts. What happens here? Why does he do that? Does he have a mental problem? Is he confused because of the accident? But he seems to know exactly what he does. There is some kind of snarl, then a growl, and then an almost content purr against my acromioclavicular.

The blood loss is enormous. When did we switch places here? I am the doctor, he should be bleeding to death. Or shouldn't. As I was about to help him.

My thoughts become muffled. I have cardiac arrhythmia. A man can only loose 40% of his blood before he faints. How much did he take? And why doesn't he throw up? Noone can tolerate to drink even their own blood.

Everything fades away. Blackness envelops me.

It must be later. I am lying on the concrete, a mirror image of the accident victim I tried to help. I get up, my limbs feel different. I need to run.

I am running through the city, restless, not knowing what to do. It is dark. It is too hot. The city is too loud. Something is wrong. Why didn't I get back into the car?

I am so hungry.


	2. Searching for Something

Still running. Like when I needed to clear my thoughts at college. There were shitloads of facts to learn, and sometimes I couldn't take any more, just slipped into my jogging shoes and ran. Of course, back then I always knew where I would run, having my private little course stacked out, and I was in control.

Tonight it felt like the legs ran me, like the street ran me, like I was a panicked deer almost run over staggering through the wood without reason. I shook my head to clear it, but there was only the pulsing beat of my hunger. Needed to eat or I would die. Anger flooded me. I briefly thought that if I would encounter a late night stroller with a Happy Meal I would totally attack him and rip the bag open.

Then I noticed the bright neon signs of a store that was open 24/7. Oh, thank you. I would just buy something to eat. How did I look? The dishevelled shirt was smoothened for appearances sake, and I braced myself to go in. The music was too loud, the light was too stark, colors were definitely off, and I could smell the clerk at the counter, a lanky guy with curly hair. He was engrossed in his magazine and didn't even look up. I made a bee-line for the back where the food was. I tried not to break into a run. I could already smell the buns, the potato chips, the pre-packed sandwiches. They smelled a little odd, like too much mayonnaise and spices, but my mouth watered.

I tore open one of those turkey sandwiches and stuffed it into my mouth. I would just show the price tag later and pay up. But I almost choked. There was this acrid smell of the conservants, but no taste at all. And the bread was so dry that I was unable to chew and swallow, so I spit it out. Maybe it had gone bad. Well, good for me to find the batch. I took another one, this had cheese on it. But it was just the same, disgusting smell and horrible texture, and no taste at all. I was so hungry I was about to cry, and there I was, a half chewed sandwich in hand and unable to eat it. Without further delay, I tossed the bread and went over to the chips. I knelt down, ripped a package open and stuffed my face, but it didn't taste right, and I couldn't swallow. I needed to drink something to make it go down. In a frantic haze I searched the stacks for a can of soda, but even the thought of drinking something like that made me nauseous and I couldn't stomach it. I tried another mouthful of chips, growling with hunger, but it was to no avail. I retched.

By then the clerk had heard me and slowly crept around the corner, a baseball bat in hand. He surely thought I was a looter, sitting in the mess I had made of the packages. „Hey, what are you doin'? You have to pay for those."

I turned around and snarled low in my throat. Did he really expect me to pay for this junk? There was nothing in it that was worth the price. „I'm not paying for anything." I spat, enraged. Standing up, my voice hoarse with thirst, I added: „Something's wrong with your food!" I got really angry now. I grabbed his arm to make sure he couldn't hit me with the bat. „It doesn't have any taste."

He shook me off, my fingernails had hurt him. I wondered briefly how that could happen. He lifted the bat, trying to intimidate me. „You're crazy!" he bellowed, but I was distracted. The wound on his arm smelt like heaven. The blood oozing out made my teeth ache, my mouth water. I had only eyes for his arm, as I could smell the veins, could suddenly hear his heartbeat and see the pulse in his upraised wrist.

The man took a step backwards, then another one. „You stay away from me!You get back. I mean it." Suddenly I felt something shift in my gums, and a tickling in my eyes, and then I saw his warm body more distinctive than before, and the heady smell of his blood reached me. I hissed, mouth open, and then I attacked him. Easily I threw him down and sank my teeth into his neck. They were going in easily. I didn't really know what I was doing, but I needed to get to this fountain of red, rich liquid. I moaned with delight when I drank it down. A shame to waste it. I tried to get the parts that ran out, quickly draining every drop I could get out of him. It was heavenly, delicious. It tasted like nothing I had ever eaten, better than Tiramisu, better than sunday lunch roast. It warmed me, it invigorated me, and my anguish diminished, my need to run calmed down and I was able to close my eyes for a moment and just revel in the feeling of being full and safe.

But then I opened my eyes again, and the colors were back to normal. A man was lying in his blood, his neck torn open. There was no way any doctor could fix this. His heart already stopped, I could't hear it anymore. Why could I hear his heartbeat before? I didn't care.

What to do? I did steal food, and I killed a man. Well, he attacked me with the bat, I was just defending myself. And there was his blood, something was wrong with it. It was so good.

I ran out again, before the police found the clerk. I was tired suddenly. Had to get home before I fell asleep. Needed to get home, be safe. I ran back to where I left my car somewhere near the accident site.

When I was back at the place where I woke up earlier, I looked around warily. There was a black pickup truck, the kind of truck that the police used for their CSI specialists. Did they search for clues regarding the accident? Should I have come out and told them I was fine? But I just had attacked a clerk in a shop. I decided to keep myself hidden.

I could see a young woman in black leather gear, hair in a braid, stern expression. She walked towards the dumpster where I laid earlier. She sniffed the air. I pulled back closer to the trees I was hiding behind.

I could scent her. She smelled familiar, like a distant cousin you meet for the first time at a family reunion. But the one in the car smelled dangerous, determined and unforgiving, old somehow. I didn't dare to go there.

The younger woman got back into the car, and they left. I had the sudden impulse to run after them, to lay my hand on the door handle, to ask for advice. Curiously just at that moment I remembered sitting on my grandma's lap, inhaling her old woman scent, her singing me to sleep. I missed her. I wanted her back.

Why did two woman in leather awaken those feelings in me? It was as if I belonged to them. I was homesick somehow. I wanted to go home. I wanted to crawl somewhere and be safe. I was too hot, and my mind was woozy. Maybe I was coming down with the flu.

Going home meant driving. I searched for my car, but it was gone. So they already towed it. Damn. This trip would take hours. What a crappy night. But I still had lots of warm liquid inside and felt okay. Running home would be easy. I remembered the way. My legs would run on their own, my arms just flailing around, as if I had forgotten how to jog. Running, I turned off my thoughts and just tried to feel the rhythm. It would soon be dawn.


	3. Fight for Your Life

Fight for your life

„I will go back to my old life."

His face changed from fury to – what? pity? compassion? remorse? Then his look became steel.

„You can't. You destroyed it."

I was surprised how much it hurt when he shoved the wooden stake into my chest. And I wondered about the experience to live through that. Hell, wasn't it enough already? Now I was killed the second time and it still didn't catch.

He took me into a fireman's grip, careful not to dislodge the damned stake, then laid me down on a gurney in the deserted top floor, where the biohazard stuff is kept. Ironic, that I should die here in the hospital that I had committed so many hours to. I knew he would kill me. Three time's the charm.

I tried to keep alert, but it was hard. I was still extremely hungry, and it messed with my concentration. But now that I was incapacitated, my mind took over from the almost drunken rage within. It was almost like a respite. Maybe now I could sleep.

I heard him talk to a woman. They argued. He pulled a sheet over my face.

I suddenly knew where he was heading with me. If I could, I would have struggled. Part of me still wanted to live, damn it. I wanted to wake up in the morning, have breakfast, read the paper, drive to work, go home, tend to the garden, love my wife… wait.

She was dead.

I killed her.

I was in no way prepared for the flash of pain that ran through my no longer beating heart when I remembered that I killed my wife in a senseless rage of hunger. And then the dull pain at the recognition that I never could be trusted with patients again, that I wasn't safe.

He was right. I destroyed it. There was no other way. I was totally out of control.

In his place, I would have done the same.

I heard his voice when he told her no. I knew when he shoved me into the incinerator with clumsy, angry movements. He would probably beat himself up about this.

I almost wished I could comfort him.

I anticipated pain, but I welcomed it.

Because I so wanted this to end.

Preferably now.

And then it did just that.


End file.
